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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792731">Comfort</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/togetherboth/pseuds/togetherboth'>togetherboth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Martin and Lewis (RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Public Display of Affection, RPF, Someone is a bit drunk, and it isn't Jerry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:35:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792731</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/togetherboth/pseuds/togetherboth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick Stabile and roughly twenty percent of his Orchestra were crammed into a raucous booth at the Copa. Jer, sweaty and bright-eyed boyish, had squeezed himself onto the very end of their long communal seat. There he teetered, laughing and swigging Coke, happy to be included despite being on the brink of falling off and landing on his ass. </p>
<p>Dean had done his usual vanishing act, lost in the clatter-chatter of the club. Jer squinted out across the crowd. He was starting to wonder if Dean was coming back at all, maybe he’d left already. But wait: there. There he was, weaving through the crowd with a secret smile on his face and something concealed behind his back. To Jer’s trained eye he looked a little blitzed. Still tall and handsome though, with such polite ‘excuse me’s and a gentle hand when needed to coax someone out of his way. Finally he reached the table. Jer beamed at him and Dean dropped to his knees beside him like a child.</p>
<p>“Jer. Hi.”</p>
<p>“Hey bubbe, you okay?”</p>
<p>“Mmm-hmm.” Dean popped his cigarette between his lips, freeing up a hand to rest on Jer’s thigh.</p>
<p>“You a little shickered there, maybe?” Jer said as his finger found its way into a wayward curl.</p>
<p>“Only a little little. Got something for m’boy.”</p>
<p>Jer clasped his hands together and fluttered his eyelashes, masking genuine delight with fake. “For me?”</p>
<p>“For you,” with a flourish Dean produced one of the long palm fronds that decorated the Copa’s ceiling. Jer burst out laughing.</p>
<p>“Paul!”</p>
<p>“What? It fell off in my hand.”</p>
<p>“Podell’s gonna kill you,” Jer shook his head sadly. “And it’s a pity, ‘cos I liked having a partner.”</p>
<p>“Ah, what Julie don’t know won’t hurt him,” Dean said, tapping ash into Jer’s pocket. “You like it?”</p>
<p>“I love it bubbe, I’ll treasure it always,” Jer said. </p>
<p>“Good.” Dean sighed and let his head fall onto Jer’s lap. </p>
<p>“Had enough?”</p>
<p>“I’m beat,” Dean replied. “I’m gonna go up to the room.” He closed his eyes, and the head resting in Jer's lap got impossibly heavier. “Any minute now.”</p>
<p>Dean’s hair was soft and damp under Jer's fingers. “Shhh,” he said, lightly stroking. In that moment something almost like peace enfolded them; for just that second they were the single point of calm around which all clamour revolved. Pure comfort in the eye of the storm.</p>
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